


The Witch Hunter

by DracoIgnis



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 17th Century, Alternate Universe - Historical, Enemies, England (Country), F/M, Flirting, Hand Jobs, Jonerys, Sexual Content, Strangers, Witch Daenerys Targaryen, Witch Hunters, Witch hunter Jon Snow, Witchcraft, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 16:34:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21018851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DracoIgnis/pseuds/DracoIgnis
Summary: Jon Snow is a witch hunter arriving in town to determine the fate of rumoured witch Daenerys Targaryen. But he might get more than he bargained for. A historic Jonerys AU short story set in 17th century England. Contains original artwork.





	The Witch Hunter

..

By the time Jon arrived, the fires were already burning.

The Lord Mayor met him at the townsgate. He was a wisp of a man, short of stature and with a sweaty hairline which he continuously dapped with a silken cloth. He smiled courteously at Jon, although his voice was pointed as he spoke: “Sir, we have been awaiting you. I worried you would not arrive in time.”

Jon looked down at the man from atop his horse. He was dressed in a black coat and breeches, the only shimmer of light being the hemline of his cloak which was embroidered with a silver gilt thread. “I fear you worry more now I have arrived,” Jon spoke. He gazed across the barren fields toward the great bonfires in the distance. He could count two, although the thick smoke in the air suggested to him that more were aflame. The fumes were clawing at his throat, and he pulled the glove off his hand to cover his lips. “It seems you have already made your judgement.”

“I do not intend to play you for a fool,” the Lord Mayor said. “We are convinced - she’s a witch.”

“Although powerful, the word of the people is not above the law,” Jon reminded him as he dismounted his horse. Right away, a young lad came running to claim the reins, but Jon waved him away.

The Lord Mayor folded his cloth in half before running it across his forehead. “No sir, of course not sir,” he spoke in haste. “But I am certain once you’ve seen her, you will come to the same conclusion.”

_ He’s too slick, _ Jon thought as he wrapped the leather reins around his hand. He disliked the Lord Mayor at once; his appearance was unbecoming, the beige silk of his shirt dirtied with sod and his cloak so long it was caked in mud. But it was his unseemly behaviour which really put Jon on edge, more so when he withdrew a purse and attempted to hand it over.

“Sir, I take my payment _ after _ the assessment,” Jon spoke sharply.

The Lord Mayor smiled: “Surely, we can come to an agreement. Let us not argue but part as friends.”

“I am commissioned by Parliament to hunt witches, not to establish friendships.” Jon narrowed his eyes and leaned in to stare down the shivering Lord Mayor, his voice perfectly tepid as he spoke: “Now, show me to her.”

As they walked through town, it became obvious to Jon that he was dealing with a case of hysteria. The townspeople had painted words of protection on their doors, and witch bottles were displayed in every windowsill, seemingly in an attempt to scare evil away. “Those should be hidden,” Jon informed as he pointed toward one, “else they will do no good.” However the Lord Mayor did not bother to comment; he merely offered Jon a polite nod at his suggestion before leading him on.

_ He is angry, _ Jon pondered as the followed a few steps behind the man. _ He wished for me to arrive after the burning, and now he regrets that he could not pay for my absence. There are too many men who price coin above duty. _ His gaze slipped to the smoke rising above the rooftops. It was dense and dark, and carried the musty stench of rotten firewood. _ If I do not hurry, I fear I shall have no say in what takes place. _

Once they reached the market square, the Lord Mayor stopped. He gestured toward the hill just outside the walls. “Do you see that collection of trees?” he asked and waited for Jon to nod. “Her house lies between them.”

“Does she live alone?” Jon enquired.

“The wench is unwed,” the Lord Mayor spoke. “She keeps only the company of cats, though I am sure she has shared her bed with many a man.”

“Are those the only accusations against her? If so, your case seems rather weak.”

“Please do not be mistaken, sir,” the man spoke and pushed his cloth to his eyes. They were stung red from the smoke. “She has been acting strange, pushing her opinions on people and dressing like a harlot. But if my people only suffered under this lack of common decency, I might have been able to forgive her. After all, a woman is a fickle thing. But recently her mannerism has become the least of my worries.”

“Do tell,” Jon urged. So far, the Lord Mayor’s descriptions had left much to be desired. Adultery was punishable, but not the work for a witch hunter. If he had no more proof, Jon sensed his visit would be a short one.

The man smiled wryly and watched Jon with watery eyes. “It started with the corn. The harvest has failed three years in a row. You rode through our barren fields to get here, you have seen our situation. Then, there were the fires. Houses burned. Merchants were scared away. Trade has almost halted in these parts.” The Lord Mayor shook his head as he spoke, his voice strangely melancholic.

Jon was about to cut him off when something about his face changed. It was as if a darkness inside of him surfaced, and his tone grew more passionate and his cheeks were alight as he continued:

“But that _ witch _ wanted more, and soon she turned on my beloved wife. She started having daily outbursts, her body involuntarily contorting into peculiar positions. Even now she cannot leave the house without submitting to screaming. By now, every woman in this town has had a descend into hysterics. Only that _ wicked wench _ has not been affected.” The Lord Mayor stepped close to Jon. His warm, raspy breath slithered across Jon’s cold face as he hissed: “Bring her to me, witch hunter. Let her taste the flames, and we shall see who screams.”

* * *

The cottage was a simple dwelling with a brick stone facade. Jon approached the place on foot. He had left his horse behind in town, afraid that evil forces would play with the animal’s mind and make it take off in haste. Witches were known to play dirty tricks on uninvited visitors, so he dared not take any chances.

However, his concerns seemed to have been displaced; as Jon walked the overgrown path to the front door, the timber planks swung open as if to welcome him. He paused for a moment, his gaze lingering on the dark hallway ahead of him, but before he could speak, an alluring voice called from the inside:

“Ser Jon Snow the witchfinder, I presume? Leave not a lady waiting. Come in at once.”

Faced with darkness, Jon shuddered in his cloak. The smoke from the bonfires had not yet reached the hillside, and outside the house he was bathed in light from above. _ But my duty lies beyond the doorway_, Jon reminded himself. He took off his hat and gingerly stepped across the threshold. “You have heard of me, madam. But I am a witch hunter, not a witchfinder,” he corrected her.

“I beg to differ.”

The door behind him swung shut. Left in blackness, Jon reached out to touch the walls, but his fingertips searched in vain. He could not even discern the shape of the entrance he had just walked through, and panicked sweat started prickling his skin.

_ It is the work of the witch, _ Jon thought, and he pressed his hat to his chest as he took in a deep breath. _ She lured me inside, and now she wishes to strangle me with darkness. _

Just then, a door opened on his right, and bright light from a fireplace swept across his frame. There, seated in a chair by the flames, was a woman. She was wearing a black woollen dress decorated with darkened lace that trailed alongside the deeply cut neckline. It was as if she wished to lead the eyes of the viewer to her chest, Jon thought, and he forced himself to gaze into her violet eyes instead.

“Did I hear the door shut?” she spoke innocently. “Must have been the wind.”

The paleness of her skin was empathised by the darkness of her surroundings. Strands of her silver hair fell loosely to her exposed collarbones whilst the rest was braided into a bun. Her lips, twisted in a smile, were painted red.

Having only just laid eyes on her, Jon could already tell why the Lord Mayor considered her to be a strumpet.

“Forgive my intrusion, madam,” Jon spoke, “but I believe you already know why I am here.”

“Yes sir,” the woman spoke. “You’re a finder of witches, and you believe me to be one.”

“My beliefs mean nothing in the face of science,” Jon spoke haughty, his cheeks flushing at her words, “and I told you before, madam; I am a witch _ hunter_, not a finder.”

“Now, on this I must disagree.” The woman stood up at once and held her hand to her chin as she gave him a ponderous look. “I have heard that you are commissioned to seek out those believed to perform magic. I have heard that you conduct experiments to ensure that you reach correct conclusions.”

“This is all true,” Jon nodded. Although vexed, he decided it better to engage with her little game than to deny it. Those accused of witchcraft could behave in the most peculiar of ways. Some would lash out violently at the allegations, others would succumb to tears whilst admitting their sinful ways. _ She seems to fit in neither category, _ Jon thought, _ but it is early still. Perhaps she does not sense the seriousness of the situation. _

At his reply, the woman cocked her head to the side. Her locks slipped from her collarbone down the plunge of her dress. Jon ensured he kept eye-contact with her. “Further, I have heard that you do not perform any executions yourself.”

“I take no pleasure in pain,” Jon assured her, “I am merely here to conduct my investigations.”

“Then, you are no hunter. You are merely a finder. A finder of facts,” the woman smiled, seemingly pleased at her own deductions.

Jon licked his lips. He took hold of a nearby chair, seating himself without further invite. “Enough of this,” he said, “we have little time to work in.”

“What does it matter?” the woman spoke, although she too took a seat. She leaned her elbows atop the table and rested her head in her hands. “You have met with the Lord Mayor. I am sure he has given you all the facts you need. I am a witch, so it has been decided. The crackling fire is louder than a woman’s plea.”

At this, Jon felt his heart sting. He shook his head gravely as he spoke: “No, madam, I can assure you that I am here to make certain you have a fair trial. As said, I take no pleasure in pain. If you are innocent, you have nothing to fear.”

The woman pouted her lips as her brows raised. “Is that so?” she asked.

For a moment, Jon mistook her expression for gratitude, and he smiled at her. “It is.”

“How shall you conduct your tests? No, do not speak,” she interrupted him as his lips parted, “I shall guess.”

Jon’s smile melted away, and he frowned. “This is highly unbecoming-”

“You will throw me in the lake. If I float, I am guilty. If I drown, I am innocent.”

“Truly, that is a tested trial, but-”

“-but either way, I shall die.” She smiled and twisted a loose lock of her hair around her fingertip. “A woman accused is a woman doomed.”

“A myth,” Jon said. “We tie a rope around the woman’s waist. If she sinks, we pull her out.”

“Who pulls her out?”

“The men of the town.”

“She same who accused her? Oh, I am sure they will act in haste! This calms my fragile heart.” The woman sat back in her chair with a theatrical sigh of relief.

Jon’s hands clenched into fists beneath the table. _ I rarely come across such insolence, _ he thought and tightened his jaw not to speak in error. _ Is she taking me for a fool, or is she truly half-witted? _

“I did meet the Lord Mayor upon my arrival,” Jon agreed with her earlier point, “and it seems to me that he has made up his mind. I, however, has not. I will not submit you to the scorn of the masses unless I am certain that you are with guilt. All my tests will therefore be conducted in this room. I am sure you will find comfort in that.” He placed his hat upon the tabletop as he folded his hands before him. His voice was rather stern as he continued: “Please, tell me your name.”

Jon wondered if his authoritative tone made an impact, at least he was grateful when she spoke at once: “I am Daenerys.”

“Daenerys,” he repeated, “are you a witch?”

She smiled slightly and leaned back in her chair. “It is what I stand accused of,” she said.

“You stand accused of much,” Jon spoke. “The Lord Mayor indicates that you have caused the harvest to fail.”

“Oh dear,” the woman, Daenerys, sighed. She fiddled with the lace at her chest, causing Jon’s gaze to shortly wander.

He disliked the fashion of the time; even highborn ladies showcased their bodies akin common whores. It was not befitting, and proved a challenge to good men like himself who sought only to lead a decent life. _ She leads my gaze astray with purpose, _ he decided and once more forced himself to look her in the eyes. It was too late, however, as she had noted him dawdle. She smiled, the red of her lips tugging back to reveal her white teeth. _ She wants me to lust for her sinful flesh. _

“The Lord Mayor also accuses you of starting fires around town,” Jon continued, his voice slightly less assured this time around. His cheeks were warm. For a moment, he wished he had the Lord Mayor’s silky cloth to dap his damp forehead. “It seems trade has come to a halt following these events.”

“Oh dear,” Daenerys repeated once more, her fingers dipping to the top of her cleavage. “That is indeed concerning.”

“Furthermore,” Jon continued, his voice strained as he struggled to focus on the task ahead. Blood was flowing swiftly through his body, so quickly it made him jittery. He moved to the edge of his seat as he cleared his throat. “Furthermore, the women of the town has fallen into hysterics. They are unable to control their bodies, and their lungs are filled with wails of pain.”

“_Oh dear,_” Daenerys whispered a third time. The fingers at her chest clenched, and she drew her hand back to her lips. Momentarily, Jon’s tense body relaxed, but only until her pink tongue darted out to lick the smudge of her red lip colour off her front teeth. The view alone made him shudder. “Those are all grave accusations.”

“Madam, I fear you do not understand the gravity of the situation. Fires are burning across town. I am asking you to defend yourself. I am asking you to give me a slither of hope that this is mere gossip.”

“Well, all of it is true,” Daenerys spoke plainly.

Jon was astonished at her brashness. “Did you speak in error, madam?” he enquired.

“I did not,” she assured him. “It is all true. The harvest did fail. The fires did burn. The women did wail. These things I cannot dispute, however the claim that I am behind them? That I strongly deny.” She leaned back in her chair as she rested her hands in her lap. With the fire burning behind her, the shadows fell across her body, and for a moment, Jon saw something other than a wicked facade; he saw a soft woman, one who had been discarded by her own people and left to defend herself to a stranger.

_ I must not think in this manner, _ Jon reminded himself. _ I cannot let myself be bewitched. I must seek truth. _ Yet, as she twirled her hair once more around her fingertips, her lips pursed and her long eyelashes fluttering, he found it hard not to feel inclined to believe her.

“Madam, I urge you to tell what you know of these events,” Jon said.

“The Lord Mayor should stand accused,” Daenerys said.

At this, Jon gawked. “That is quite the statement, madam!”

“More so than his accusation of me?”

“The Lord Mayor holds great lands and titles.”

“Whilst I hold no lands, and no titles, and therefore must be at guilt?” Daenerys scoffed at her own words and shook her head. “Sir, the fields are barren because the Lord Mayor flooded them. He wished for the harvest to fail.”

“Madam, I warn you, the words you speak-”

“-are the truth.” Daenerys stood up. Her shadow fell across the table and upon Jon. “He was paid handsomely to do so. His brother owns the fields the next town over. I suppose they share the profits of his sales now barley has tripled in price.” She placed her hands flatly onto the table and leaned in. Her pale chest neared Jon, and he moved himself further back in his chair.

Yet, he could not help but glance into the depths of her cleavage. Her teats were perfectly pushed up by her corset, making them spill slightly over the embroidered edge. _ She wants me to lust for her, _ he reminded himself. _ I must not. I must remain good. I must remain pure. _

“The fires too are rooted in greed. To cross the great rivers, you must make your way through this town. No tradesman wants to set up shop in a town plagued with fires, but he will pay well for the privilege of travelling safely through it.” She shook her head in disbelief at her own words, causing her silver locks to dance around her face.

Jon narrowed his eyes. “I suppose you will want me to believe that the hysterics of his wife are caused by a need for coinage too?”

Daenerys smiled. She leaned in closer, so close he could feel her breath on his skin. When the Lord Mayor had come this close to him earlier, he had withstood it not to be impolite, although the man’s breath had stenched of tobacco and ashes. With this woman, however, he had no urge to pull away. Rather, he had to fight a need to push in closer.

“The Lord Mayor wanted to bed me,” Daenerys said.

Jon swallowed at the idea. “Did you wish for him to?” he heard himself ask.

Her smile turned wry and she wrinkled her nose. “Do you think he would be accusing me of witchery had I let him have me?” she asked.

“Why would this cause his wife to act possessed?”

“The woman wailed when she realised her beloved Lord Mayor is nothing but an infidel,” Daenerys said. “I know that he tried to keep her inside, but she sought the other women in town. Soon, they all started asking themselves: _ what if the harlot wants my husband too? _ It was not a matter of what I wanted, but of what their husbands could be capable of should the opportunity arise. Surely, you can imagine how the chaos unfolded.”

For a moment, Jon pondered upon her words. They seemed far-fetched, and yet it would not be the first time he had come across a situation akin this. Blaming women of witchery for being modest was as common as blaming them when immodest. He realised it was a fine line to walk.

Still, he reached into his cloak and pulled out a silver case. Under Daenerys’ watchful eyes, he opened it to reveal three needles. Though they varied in length, they all had a fine wooden handle.

“You still wish to conduct the pricking test,” she concluded.

He looked at her surprised. “You know of this test?”

Daenerys pushed all her weight onto her hands as she dragged her legs onto the table. Her long dress slipped across the tabletop as she crawled to him, her violet eyes ever so alluring. “I know of the test,” she replied, her voice low. “First, you will seek my body for imperfections, trying to determine if I have a ‘witch mark’. I know men like you, sir Jon - if you wish a mark to exist, you will find one all the same.” She knelt at the edge of the table, hovering above Jon.

Jon looked up at her, his fingertips shivering on the armrests as his cock stirred. _ She is trying me, _ he thought, _ she is truly trying me. _ She looked akin an angel; the glow from the fire fell in from behind, illuminating her frame as if she was descending upon him from above. As her feet slipped down the table, she settled unwomanly with her legs spread, one hanging on each side of his seated frame, her hands pushing her dress down by her crotch.

“Oh, how you will examine my body,” she continued her tale, rolling her shoulders in slow, seductive movements, causing her teats to tense. “And once you are satisfied, you will use your small needles on me, prickling me to draw blood. If you find blood, you will determine I am human after all. But if not-”

“-you are a witch,” Jon finished her sentence. From this angle, his nose was just below her breasts, and he could smell her; fine sweat, ashes and fire and sod, but mostly herbs, honey, and tea. It was an inviting scent. He wished for nothing more but to dip his lips to her skin and have a taste. The thought alone made his cock stir once more.

“Would you look at that,” Daenerys chuckled. She reached down to place her hands on his shoulders, and she leaned in, her lips by his ear as she lifted her foot. Her naked foot pressed to his crotch, her toes feeling his throbbing length. “I think you wish to bed me too,” she whispered hotly to his ear.

Jon grabbed her wrists and pulled her hands off of him at once. His fingertips dug roughly into her skin, causing it to whiten. “You are a wicked wench!” he spat, his brows furrowed with anger. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. “You have lured me to lust for you! You have _ bewitched _ me!”

She threw her head back in a laugh, her fingertips spreading as his grip on her wrists tightened. “I have bewitched you!” she spoke humoured and cocked her brows at him. “Oh, sir, no - your want is all _your_ doing. I need no spells for cocks.”

“So you admit that you are a witch?” Jon asked. It was then that he felt it - a strange tingling sensation that started in his fingertips, then spread across his hands and down his arms, all the way to his shoulders. As Daenerys’ flicked her fingertips, his arms pulled back, and he found himself gripping the backrest as if he depended on it for his life. His fingertips pushed so far into the wooden carvings that he could feel splinters appearing. Yet, he could not pull back. Strange forces kept him down, and he looked at Daenerys with his eyes wide open in fear.

Her violet eyes had darkened. She smirked at him as she gently kissed the marks he’d left on her wrists. “You’re a funny one, sir. It’s been hard to place you. At first, I thought you had come to accuse me. Then, I believed you wanted to help me. Now, I think you just want to bed me.” She reached over and grabbed a hold of his black, curly locks, forcing his head back as she inspected his face. As Jon swallowed, she licked her lips: “Thing is, I also believe I want to bed you too.”

Jon shook his head, sweat trickling down his forehead. “I am a good man,” he spoke, “I cannot be led astray.”

“You lead yourself where you wish to go,” Daenerys spoke. She inched herself forward until she was sat at the edge of the table. Then she allowed herself to drop, falling into Jon’s lap. His cock pressed through his breeches against her clothed sex, and she rubbed herself down onto him, her fingers never loosening their hold on his hair. “Oh Jon, of all the places we could meet again, I did not think the 17th century would be it.”

Jon gasped as she rode him clothed, and he closed his eyes as the sensation of lust spread across his body. It was a feeling he had tried to suppress for much of his life. He had always wished to be like his father; a good man, one who stayed true to the path of glory and was never tempted by sin. But he had always known that this was not his fate; at heart, Jon was a man of lust and needs, and Daenerys had seen right through his facade.

_ All this time I thought I was judging her, _ he thought, _ when she was the one gathering facts about me. _ He tried to move his hands once more, but found them to be like stone around the backrest. Instead, he breathed heavily through his nose and glanced at her. “What do you mean?” he whispered. “We have never met.”

“Oh, but we have,” Daenerys said. She reached down to unbutton his breaches, her hand searching between their clothed bodies. Then, once they came undone, she slipped her fingers across his skin and wrapped them around his hard cock. She chuckled as he moaned, and she pressed her lips to his ear. “We have met so many times that I can hardly keep count. My magic has allowed me to see our past meetings, as well as our future ones.”

Jon groaned as her soft fingertips worked his member. She knew exactly how hard to hold him, how quickly to stroke him, and where he liked to be touched. _ She is a witch_, he reminded himself, _ and she uses dark magic to get this kind of insight. _ Yet, there seemed to be nothing sinister about the way she felt him. It was pure desire.

Jon pushed his nose to her neck as he took in a shivering breath. “I don’t understand - we have met?”

“You have been an explorer, and a fighter. You have been a knight, and a cobbler, and a servant, and a lord.” She brought her hand to her lips and licked her fingers in front of his face, making him moan at the sight. Her pink tongue darted across her tips, then she dipped her hand back into his breeches to resume her work on his cock. “And I was there every time; I have been a merchant, and a wife, and a doctor, and a lady. I have been the poorest woman, begging on my knees till my skin bled. And I have been highborn, wearing jewels since birth and promised to strong men.”

Jon could scarcely understand what she was saying. The tales seemed strange, yet they resonated with something inside of him. _ It is not true, _ he told himself. _ Whatever she speaks, it is not the truth. She wishes to seduce me. She wants me to embrace her dark magic. _ Yet, he longed to hear more. “What else?” he asked, before he could bite his lips shut.

Daenerys smiled at his ask. With her free hand, she stroked his chin, feeling his soft beard. “In every lifetime, we have met. In every lifetime, we were once perfect strangers. In every lifetime, we found our way back together. Briefly, or for life. We have always been destined to meet.”

Her hand worked harder now, quicker. Shivers went down Jon’s spine, causing him to arch his back. He tried to push himself into her hand, but with her weight upon his legs, he found it impossible to move.

“You said-” Jon gasped, pausing to breathe. His eyes locked with hers, her stare intense. “You said we meet in the future too?”

“I have seen strange things,” she nodded. “I have seen us embrace in front of pumpkins alight, and adorn our skin with pictures made of blackened ink. And I have seen us dressed in garbs much finer than what royals wear nowadays - I have seen us on thrones made of swords, and I have seen people call us King and Queen.”

The images flashed before Jon’s eyes. As she spoke, he could almost see it happening - there they were before an audience, seated upon thrones in a grand hall, and they were truly hailed as King and Queen by the people. No more hunting, no more pricking the skin of women, no more making a living from guesswork.

Jon shut his eyes tight as his body tensed. Daenerys’ lips by his ear whispered:

“Come for me, Jon. Our time is short, so come for me, so we can enter our next life together.”

As such, he came - with a shudder, he spilled into her hand, his cum dripping onto her fingers and the inner of his breeches. He groaned and leaned his head back, then whimpered with relief as his arms suddenly fell from their grip on the chair. As he moved his fingertips, they crackled sorely.

Daenerys pulled her hand back out and, as he watched her, licked his cum off her fingers, her pink tongue lapping up every last bit. She winked at him as she slipped off his body, her heat leaving him cold at once.

“Where are you going?” Jon asked, his eyes following her as she walked around the table to the fireplace. He was still sat as if in a daze, his mind only slowly catching up to what was going on. His cock throbbed weakly in his breeches.

“They are coming to burn me,” she said. “I shall not give them the satisfaction.” She grabbed the fireplace poker and prodded about the wood, causing the flames to flicker. “I will make my escape through here.”

“If you go through there, you_ will _ burn,” Jon warned her. His brain was slowly waking up once more, and with haste he stood up. “Please, madam, if you are who you say you are-, I mean, if we are what you say we are meant to be-” He could not find the words to speak, but she turned to smile at him gently.

“If it is so, then we shall not be apart for long. I fear I have not seen us meet beyond this in this lifetime, but perhaps in the next.” She tugged her arms around her as she turned her back on the fire. As she looked at Jon, her head cocked slightly to the side, and she wondered out loud: “Of course, you could always try to chase me back down. You are after all a witch _ hunter_, correct?”

Without further ado, she backed into the flames. Jon threw himself across the table as he reached for her, shouting in shock, but by the time he tumbled down in front of the flames, she had disappeared. In fact, as he looked around, he was astonished to note that _ everything _was gone; there were no tables, no chairs. In fact, there was not even a house. He was sat atop the overgrown hill, his hands dug deeply into the tall grass, and when he looked ahead, all he could see was the small town and the great bonfires burning around it.

_ She really was a witch_, he realised dimly, his heart skipping a beat. He looked down and noted that where the fireplace had been, there was now just a small pile of ashes.

“What happened!” he heard someone shout at once.

As Jon stood up, he scooped the ashes into the palm of his hand. It was the first thing the calling Lord Mayor noticed as he arrived at the scene. He had been running, Jon noted - his cloak was even heavier with mud than before, and his face was covered in a thin layer of sweat. He immediately withdrew his cloth and started dapping. “What is that?” he asked, his gaze flickering between Jon and the ashes.

“It is all she left behind,” Jon spoke. He could tell from the Lord Mayor’s face that the man wanted to ask more questions, so he quickly spoke himself: “I concluded my tests. She truly was a witch. When confronted with the truth, she vehemently denied the allegations. What can you expect from a wench?” He spat the words, hoping his tone of voice would sound truthful. “When I spoke the holy words, her very being descended into ashes.”

“That is all she left behind?” the Lord Mayor repeated Jon’s words. He looked Jon up and down and then frowned. “You are a wicked man, sir.”

Jon looked at him in surprise. “Whatever makes you speak such words?” he enquired.

The Lord Mayor pointed to Jon’s breeches. As Jon looked down, he flushed; the buttons were still undone, and a faint mark from his cum was visible on the black fabric.

“It seems to me that you did more prodding than your job requires,” the Lord Mayor spoke with disgust.

“How I conduct my business is not your matter,” Jon spoke annoyed, although he could still feel his cheeks were aflame. He quickly did up his buttons as the Lord Mayor turned his back on him.

“I want you out of town immediately,” he spoke. “You can get your horse from the stable yourself. Be off before sunset.”

“What about my pay?” Jon asked. “I did claim the witch. She will bother your town no longer.”

The Lord Mayor frowned. “You lay with the harlot and expect to get paid for it? Begone before I make up my mind to burn you!” he spat.

At this, Jon furrowed his brows and straightened up. “Lord Mayor,” he spoke, “_ sir _, do not forget that I am commissioned by Parliament. If paid, I am sure to be out of here at sunset and never to return. However, should my pockets be light,” he said, waiting for the man to turn to look at him before continuing: “Then I am sure the Parliament would be interested in hearing how a Lord Mayor flooded his own fields and set his own town aflame to make a handsome profit.”

At his words, the Lord Mayor’s face turned ghastly. He stared at Jon, seemingly trying to determine if the man spoke the truth. After a moment of silence, he pulled out the purse from earlier and threw it on the ground before Jon. “Take your coin and leave. You will not be welcome back here,” he growled and turned. His cloak fluttered behind him as he took his leave toward town.

Jon reached down and picked up the purse, weighing the coinage with a smile. _ I shall take my leave, _ he thought, _ and go witch hunting._

_.._

**Author's Note:**

> Reckon this was a fitting story considering Halloween is coming up? I really enjoyed the idea of Daenerys the witch being tracked down by Jon, but as always outsmarting him. Wish I could've squeezed more smut in there, but oh well! Thanks to DragonandDirewolf for the alluring artwork! And thanks to all of you for reading and commenting!


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